This past week has been pretty fun. Went to Scotland on a school trip from the first to fifth of March. We stayed in a hostel in Glasgow and spent most of our time there, with a one-day excursion east to Edinburgh (or if you rather, Edinbruh). I remember not really particularly looking forward to Scotland–we’d just read MacBeth last year–but aside from the weather, which was pretty Shakespearean, it was pleasantly nice.

We had a lot of time to ourselves, so I think I really got to know downtown Glasgow. Shopped a lot, ate a lot, drank maybe a little too much. (EuroHostel Glasgow, I’m really sorry about your staircase…) That suddenly reminds me, if you ever get the chance to visit Glasgow, go check out La Tasca: it’s this Spanish tapas restaurant and bar with excellent food, drinks, service, and ambiance. I know, shame on me for recommending a Spanish restaurant in Scotland, but really–do yourself a favor and eat there, or at least order a rebujito. We also went into some authentic Scottish pubs and tried just about everything under the sun: rum, vodka, schnapps, whiskey…pretty nifty (just like my rhyme), and ate some haggis: the whole gastronomical nine yards.

Came home Thursday and went up to the family hytte on Friday with Mammà, Pappà, Marie, Hilde and Morten. Alltid koselig å være på hytta vår.

So lately I’ve been harboring this really sweet and irritating feeling. The only way to describe it is like my heart can’t be contained within my ribcage. I’m emblazoned with a violent urge to do more, to be selfish, to go after what I really want. I’ve felt like this sporadically, and there’s no doubt Keith Urban’s latest single has a little something to do with it. (It also explains my sudden pregnant-womanlike craving for contemporary country. Just no Taylor Swift, please.) I love this feeling; it’s so motivating. It makes me want to get off my ass and do stuff and make something out of my life. But at the same time, it’s a humbling feeling: I feel so small, so unimportant, so there’s almost a need to move, faire, fare. It’s a fusion of desire and desperation. It’s the thought that “It’s a stormy sea ahead, but you’ll sail through it if you really put your mind to it.”

So anyway, to assuage myself, I’m planning on learning “You’ll Think of Me” within the next two weeks. Ambitious (for a gee-tar retard like me)? Yeah. But things feel different this time…

À suivre…